


The King and the Pirate

by mikeymagee



Category: Aquaman (2018), Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), DC Cinematic Universe, Justice League (2017), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Black Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikeymagee/pseuds/mikeymagee
Summary: King T'challa had become accustomed to harboring fugitives. Black Manta has found himself in the Palace of the Panther King, and T'challa takes it upon himself to ensure the undersea pirate is comfortable.





	

It never ceased to amuse T’challa. The company the Wakandan king kept was always subject to scrutiny, from Iron Man’s boasting to Captain America’s love of patriotism, but this new guest was something else entirely. King T’challa was harbouring Black Manta safely within the Wakanda border.

 

A king was holding a pirate safely from justice. It sounded like the beginning of a joke, or at least a badly thought out story. But here was the notorious Black Manta, clad only in a silk towel around his waist, standing on the edge of the second story window. 

 

“I take it you like the view?” T’challa said. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, King T’chaka had always said that a king only moves when it is needed. Any undue aggression from royalty was a sign of weakness. T’challa never understood his father’s musings yet, as T’challa rose to kinghood, the small pearls of wisdom began to form cohesion. For a king, appearances were everything. Strength instead of uncertainty. Wisdom instead of weakness. It was a simple trick that T’challa had mastered. T’challa was learning all sort of things about himself now, wasn’t he? For instance, he had a habit of harbouring criminals. Hell, Bucky Barnes was still in cryogenic freeze. 

 

“Your castle beats my submarine anyday.” Manta scratched the back of his neck with uncut nails. Bits of his black skin peeled off and he smiled. 

 

“Well,” T’challa said, standing next to his guest, “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

 

Manta laughed, “Sure sure, just let me finish fishing its parts out of the ocean and I’ll take you there myself.” 

 

Oh, right. Manta’s vessel had been destroyed in his last battle with Aquaman. Apparently. Manta’s machinations were no match for Aquaman’s allies. Who knew a school of dolphins could be so formidable?   

 

Somehow Manta (or rather David, as T’challa liked to call him) had washed up onto Wakanda. The hidden country may have been in the heart of Africa, but it did have springs and other underground water sources that stretched all throughout the world. That was one of the reasons Wakandans were such nautical geniuses. They had created sail boats, and submarines before the West even knew what the North Star was. 

 

“I do not believe you should be up and about. You still haven’t recovered from-”

 

“I’m fine T’challa.” David spoke in a curt and clipped tongue. His arms were riddled with scratches and deep cuts that extended all the way from his wrists to his shoulders. Granted, Wakanda had the best medical facilities in the world, but every body needed time heal, regardless of the wonders of medicine. 

 

But T’challa knew that look. That stubborn countenance born from hurt pride. There was no talking to a man who had vengeance on his mind.  

 

“Well, if you’re just going to stand there, at least have the decency to put on some clothes,” T’challa said. He wanted to sound annoyed, but his voice could only convey a jaded interest.

 

David cocked a grin, “Don’t act like you don’t love this show you’re seein’.” 

 

If there was one thing David knew, it was how to read people. You don’t become the greatest undersea villain of all time by ignoring your enemy’s tells. And T’challa (for all his grandstanding speeches and adherence to Wakandan tradition) was always staring. 

 

“Well,” T’challa said as he gently tugged at David’s towel, “I have seen better.”

 

“Oh, is that right?”

 

“Believe me,” T’challa said, “Growing up in Wakanda you see all kinds of beauty. And yours is nice,” T’challa said, “If not horridly westernized.” 

 

David shrugged, “Can’t help that. My ancestors were dragged from this continent as slaves, remember?”

 

“And yet your people have managed to create a culture that the entire world emulates.” T’challa ran his fingers down David’s long, dark scars. “There is beauty in that as well.” 

 

“Maybe,” David agreed, “But I’d much rather see the beauty here.” David extended his arm to the kingdom around them. The black children marching off to school, the black women with their heads wrapped in the finest cloths, the black men who stood guard at the palace walls, their necks adorned with african talismans. “A place untouched by white people.” David shook his head, “I never thought I’d see a place like this. I  _ never _ thought it could fucking exist but…” David shrugged, “...here I am.” 

 

Oh, Baset, there was something about David’s voice. That unrefined American accent, and crude speech that made T’challa want to slam him against the walls and ravish the man’s mouth until he begged for mercy. But...a king does not move in such haste. Things must be measured. Steps must be thought out. Undue movement always spelled disaster. 

 

“Well,” T’challa said, “When you’re feeling up to it, I’d be more than happy to take you on a tour.”

 

“I can’t believe the rest of the country would be cool wit that. Their king allowing an outsider to move around the grounds.”

 

T’challa just shrugged, “Well, if you keep your mouth shut, perhaps they won’t know you’re an outsider.” 

  
David cocked his eyebrow, “No promises.” 


End file.
